Just Stay The Night
by afinedenouement
Summary: Crossposting from AO3. This was never supposed to mean anything.


This time is different from the others. For starters, they're not drunk. It's funny though because neither of them are quite sure of how they ended up like this, on his bed with him kissing her so devastatingly slow with her beneath him. Then again, it doesn't really matter. Not anymore at least. She finds it weird that he's being so delicate, so achingly slow. When they fuck ( _because she will never ever call it making love because love isn't something they feel towards each other_ ), it's usually fast and angry, like they're only doing this to release their stress and nothing else, but no, not this time.

His hand is on the back of her neck as he kisses her, tongue flicking out to ask for her permission. Funny how they've never truly kissed until now. For a second, she's scared because kissing means feeling and this isn't supposed to be about feelings. Hesitantly, she allows him to kiss her, opens her mouth and knows that she shouldn't, but she wants more and finds her hands winding through his hair. She wants so badly to be loved, be wanted and they're complete opposites and despite the cliché, they never attracted and yet.

She finds herself groaning into his mouth because there are too many layers of clothing between them. Her hands work at the buttons on his shirt and she surprised when he breaks their kiss and moves her hands away.

"Not yet," he murmurs and she swallows, hard, suddenly feeling hot and red in the face. This is stupid, she tells herself. She's being stupid, blushing, feeling anxious. What was that thing about feeling butterflies in your stomach? Instead of him losing clothes, she loses her's instead. Yukio was a fast learner after all and by now it took him no time at all to rid her of her bikini top.

"Yukio…" she whispers, half questions, because this isn't like him. Usually most of their clothes are left on and suddenly she feels embarrassed knowing that he's looking. Even though her normal attire doesn't leave much to the imagination, she still can't help but blush as he leans down to kiss her neck, hands ghosting up her sides to her breasts. His mouth wanders downward, stopping to kiss her collar bone and then between both of breasts, until he chooses one and she can't help but gasp at the feeling.

She doesn't even know why she's letting him do this when she could so easily take control. All she had to do was to pin him down and they'd be done (she can feel how hard he already is against her leg and she almost wants to say something, make a smart comment, knock him down a peg). In reality though, it's him knocking her down because she doesn't mean to, but she lets out a whimper and damn him, she feels him smirk and fuck—she wants so badly to hit him, but he's suddenly kissing down her stomach and all the heat in her body moves south.

With one easy motion, her shorts are off and she can make out his face in the dim light and goddammit she wants to just fucking—then his mouth his on her, in her, and _fuck_ —she can't even think. When did he ever think about doing this? When had he-? She wants to ask him why and where and how, but the only thought in her mind is if he stops, she'll kill him. Her hands weave through his hair, pull him closer and she can't help but whimper.

This is no longer fucking. This isn't what happens between people who feel nothing between each other. You don't say someone's name during something like this if you don't feel at least something ( _she desperately wants to say all she feels is anger, but she's so very bad at lying_ ). She can't help but wonder if he loves her. Silly, stupid. She's being stupid.

Just when she's about to come undone, he stops and smiles before he kisses her, long and slow as his hips sink down and she rises to meet him (her thoughts a jumbled mess again because how did he even get his clothes off that fast?). Even now he's slow and for once, she doesn't mind. She's knows that this doesn't mean anything, that they don't love each other or at least feel any sort of affection and yet.

When he decides to quicken their pace, she's digging her nails into his back, her legs around his waist, encouraging him because dear god please don't let this end because—because—Once this ends, they'll go back to being nothing and she's so terrified because she wants something and knows that she shouldn't. So she kisses him, as they both find their release together, and can only hope that somehow, someway, he'll know ( _after all, he's known her for this long_ ).

It's another funny thing about them, how they don't really need words to do their talking for them. In the afterglow, she shivers as Yukio reaches out and takes her in his arms, wrapping his arm around her waist. She knows that neither of them will ever admit to anything ( _god forbid they actually say **those** three words_ ), but for now this is enough. They can pretend in the morning that it was nothing, that they're nothing, but for now, she's content to fall asleep in his arms. Tonight, it's enough.


End file.
